


Past Perfect

by austin360, hannasus



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Drama, Ensemble Cast, Episode: s03e22 The Job, F/M, First Date, Gap Filler, Humor, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-08
Updated: 2007-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 17:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austin360/pseuds/austin360, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannasus/pseuds/hannasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's official. Jim and Pam are dating. Well, they're going out on a date, anyway. Things don't exactly go smoothly after "The Job".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love Will Come Through

**Author's Note:**

> This story was co-written with austin360.

"I'm sorry, what was the question?"

Ken clears his throat politely. "What do you think the future holds?"

Pam likes Ken. Because he's the director of the documentary he always conducts the talking head interviews himself. He's very patient and he has a kind voice when he asks her questions, even the incredibly intrusive ones she'd rather not answer.

"Oh. Right." Pam laughs nervously, then hates herself for doing it on camera. She knows she should say something, but seriously, what is she supposed to say now? She's dying to turn around and look through the window behind her, to see if she can see Jim. For all she knows he's watching her right now. Her stomach gives a little lurch at the thought and she bites her lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.

"So, I guess that was a surprise," Ken says after it becomes obvious Pam isn't going to volunteer anything else.

"What?" She's having a really hard time concentrating on the interview and she just can't seem to sit still.

"Jim asking you out. It was surprising."

"Yeah, it kinda was." She's grinning again but she can't help it.

"Why do you think he did it?"

She shifts uncomfortably in her chair. "Um... I'm not sure--"

"I mean, why now?"

Pam doesn't think she's ever hated being on camera more than she does at this very moment. It's like her brain froze up after Jim said the words "it's a date," and now she can't even form a coherent sentence.

"Pam?" Ken prompts gently.

"Yeah?"

"Why do you think Jim decided to ask you out just now?" he repeats.

"Well... I don't really... I mean, I'm not sure that's something I..." She falters and looks at him pleadingly.

"Would you like to stop the interview?" he asks.

"Yes, please!" she says, jumping up from her chair.

Ken is merciful. This is why Pam likes him. Impulsively, she gives him a hug and smiles when his face goes beet red. Which makes her think of Dwight because, of course, beets. Only she doesn't want to be thinking about Dwight right now because Jim is on the on the other side of the door. Jim who just asked her out. On a date!

She takes a deep breath and tries to feign an expression of calm and self-assurance before she opens the door and steps out of the conference room.

Jim's leaning back in his chair talking to Michael, who's perched himself awkwardly on the corner of Jim's desk. They both glance over when Pam opens the door and she feels her heart stop. Then Jim breaks into a smile and her heart starts beating again, double time.

"Pamalot! Look who's back from _Spamalot_." Michael leans over and nudges Jim proudly. "Pamalot, _Spamalot_."

"Yeah." Jim nods indulgently at Michael and then throws Pam an eyeroll when he looks away.

"How was your interview?" Pam asks, trying to sound like everything's completely normal. Only nothing is normal and it feels crazy to be standing here making small talk in front of Michael after Jim just asked her out on a date.

"Good," Jim says. "I mean, I guess it went well enough." He shrugs as though it doesn't matter.

"That's our Brave Sir Jim, always self-depreciating," Michael says. "But really, now that the top candidate--me--has removed himself from consideration, who else are they gonna to give it to?" He attempts to chuck Jim on the shoulder, misses, and hits the edge of the chair instead.

"Karen," Dwight interjects. "They could offer the job to Karen. I would. She's professional and a sharp dresser."

"Don't forget the _appearance_ of intelligence," Jim says. "I hear that's what employers are really looking for nowadays."

Pam feels a sudden stab of guilt at the mention of Karen, who is nowhere to be seen. Did she come back to Scranton with Jim? Did they break up? God, she hopes they broke up. And then she feels bad, because that doesn't seem like the kind of thing a nice person would hope for.

"I hope she does get the job," Jim says, his eyes meeting Pam's. "I think she'd be great for it."

There are approximately eleven hundred questions that Pam is dying to ask Jim right now, only she can't. Not in front of Michael and Dwight and the rest of the office. She tries to read Jim's expression for some hint of... anything, but he's wearing his deadpan face and she can't even decide if that's good or bad.

So she just stands there awkwardly, looking at Jim. He looks back at her, but he's not smiling anymore and neither is she.

The main phone rings, giving her an excuse to hurry back to her desk. After she transfers the call to Kelly's extension she checks the voicemail. There's only one, but she continues to doodle on the message pad, pretending to write down several long and very complicated messages so she doesn't have to look up at Jim.

Michael hangs around for an interminable amount of time, talking to Jim and Dwight about his favorite Broadway musical, _Starlight Express_. After a near-disastrous attempt to demonstrate some of the "roller-ography" in the big finale, Michael finally goes back to his office to "work."

Approximately 30 seconds later, an IM window pops open on Pam's computer.

> **Jim Halpert:**     Hi.

  
Pam hasn't IMed with Jim in nearly a year. They used to kill hours of every day sending goofy messages back and forth, but that came to an end when he transferred. Now she pretty much just gets IMs from Michael, who seems to view it primarily as a medium for telling knock knock jokes.

> **Pam Beesly:**       Hi yourself.

  
She can hear Jim's keyboard clacking and it gives her a silly girlish thrill to know he's typing a message for her.

> **Jim Halpert:**     Is 7:00 OK for dinner?

  
She smiles to herself as she types her reply.

> **Pam Beesly:**       Great! What should I wear?
> 
> **Jim Halpert:**     A snorkel mask and a pair of patent leather thigh boots.
> 
> **Pam Beesly:**       So we're going to dinner as Julia Roberts and Richard Gere in Pretty Woman?
> 
> **Pam Beesly:**       Followed by snorkeling?
> 
> **Jim Halpert:**     Damn you Beesly! You've sussed out my big surprise.
> 
> **Jim Halpert:**     Now I'll have to come up with a new plan.
> 
> **Pam Beesly:**       Too bad. You would have made a nice Richard Gere.
> 
> **Jim Halpert:**     Forget the snorkel mask. Bring the thigh boots.

  
Pam giggles out loud and then covers her mouth with her hand to stifle it. When she looks up Jim is turned around in his seat grinning at her. She feels giddy, thinking about their date, but a little nervous, too. And there are still some things she really has to ask him about. She screws up her courage and types.

> **Pam Beesly:**       Where's Karen?

  
There's a slight pause before she hears him start typing a response.

> **Jim Halpert:**     New York.

  
Not exactly the detailed and satisfying explanation she was looking for.

> **Pam Beesly:**       ...
> 
> **Pam Beesly:**       Elaborate, please.
> 
> **Jim Halpert:**     Staying with friends for the weekend.

  
She types her next question and then hesitates before hitting enter. It's possible IM is not the perfect medium for this conversation, but she has to know.

> **Pam Beesly:**       Did you two break up?

  
There's a long pause this time before he answers and Pam starts to feel like she may actually die from the suspense. She tries not to think about what she'll do if he says no.

> **Jim Halpert:**     Yes.

  
Pam's breath catches in her throat. She sneaks a peak at Jim but he's not facing her and the back of his head tells her nothing.

> **Pam Beesly:**       I'm sorry.

  
He doesn't start typing right away and she begins to panic a little, afraid that she's screwed everything up again by giving him the third degree, when she finally hears the tapping of his keyboard.

> **Jim Halpert:**     I hope not, because I broke up with her to be with you.

  
Pam's stomach does a series of cartwheels. When she looks up, Jim's watching her and he looks almost apprehensive. Until he sees her smiling, and then his whole face lights up in that way that she's missed so dearly.

> **Pam Beesly:**       &lt;3

  
Across the room she hears Jim laugh softly.

> **Jim Halpert:**     Wow, you're really 14 aren't you?
> 
> **Pam Beesly:**       FIFTEEN and 3 months, I'll have you know.
> 
> **Jim Halpert:**     Now I'm nervous the To Catch a Predator guy is going to bust us.
> 
> **Pam Beesly:**       Don't worry, I have a really good fake I.D.
> 
> **Jim Halpert:**     &lt;3


	2. Love Will Come Through

Jim had the whole drive back from New York to plan The Perfect Date with Pam. He knows exactly what restaurant he'll take her to (Michaelangelo's), what kind of flowers he'll get her (gerbera daisies), what music they'll listen to in the car (Rogue Wave), and what he's going to wear (his new blue striped button-down). Yes, he is a total girl.

And he still can't quite believe she said yes. She really, actually, did. And now it's official. He and Pam are dating. Well, they're going out on a date, anyway. He even made sure to explicitly use the word date so there would be no misunderstanding his intentions.

He also makes a point to pull Ken aside and beg him not to send a camera crew along with them. Ken agrees, but only in exchange for Jim's promise to do a lengthy and candid interview in the morning.

IMing Pam makes the last hour in the office pass a little more quickly, but he gets increasingly antsy as 5:00 approaches. As soon as he hears Pam start gathering up her things he does the same so he'll be able to walk her out.

If he can get her alone on the elevator he is definitely going to kiss her. He might even do it again in the parking lot.

And then at exactly 4:58 his phone rings. Of course. He considers letting it go to voicemail, but he recognizes the number and it's Diane at Lackawanna College, which is one of his biggest clients. She just placed a huge order with him and if there's something wrong he really needs to get it fixed in the system.

He sighs and reaches for the phone. "Jim Halpert."

As he feared, Diane wants to make some last-minute changes. A lot of last-minute changes. He probably ought to be happy because she's adding 100 more cases, which puts him easily in sight of his sales target for the month, but seriously, could she not have called fifteen minutes ago? He gives Pam an apologetic look as he restarts his computer and sits back down.

She smiles reassuringly at him and mouths, "See you at seven."

And now he wants to kiss her more than ever. He's on the verge of putting Diane on hold so he can follow Pam to the elevator when he hears Dwight say, "Pam, are you leaving? I'll walk you out."

"Um, yeah, okay," Pam says.

Well, that's weird, Jim thinks, watching suspiciously as Dwight holds the door open for Pam. Also, it totally messes up his plan to kiss her on the elevator. Damn Dwight. When they're gone Jim reaches over and angrily thumps Dwight's stupid bobblehead in the face before he realizes that Randall the cameraman is filming him.

It's 5:20 by the time Jim finally gets the order changed and gets off the phone with Diane. The camera crew's packed up and gone home and pretty much everyone else has cleared out of the office except Michael. Jim quickly gathers up his things to make his escape.

Only then does it occur to him that Pam's got a new apartment and he has no idea where it is.

He digs around his desk until he comes up with a copy of the branch contact list, but of course it's totally out of date and still lists Pam's old place that she shared with Roy. He could call her cell, but now he feels like an idiot because he didn't ask her for her address sooner.

Instead, he heads into the back, fully intending to snoop through Toby's files. Only it turns out Toby is still sitting at his desk, which kind of throws a wrench into that plan.

"Hey, Jim," he says.

"Hey, Toby."

Jim shoves his hands in his pockets and stares uncertainly at Toby.

"You need something?" Toby asks.

"Um. Yeah, actually. I was wondering if I could have Pam's address. Her new address."

Toby gives him a kind of funny look. "I'm really not supposed to give out personal information. You know that."

"I know, yeah. But I'm not just anyone, right? I mean, Pam and I are friends. She totally wouldn't mind."

"Still." Toby's giving him that wary look that he always gives Michael when he's being a pain in the ass, which makes Jim feel like a slug. He hates putting Toby in an uncomfortable position, but he needs that address.

Jim pulls up a nearby chair and sits down. "Look, I guess we're supposed to disclose this to you anyway, so, uh, the thing is, I asked Pam out today."

"Really?" Toby looks surprised.

"Yeah, and she said yes, which is great. And I'm supposed to pick her up at seven, only I got a call from a client before I could ask her for her new address and now she's gone home and I don't actually know _where_ I'm supposed to pick her up."

"What about Karen?"

"We broke up."

"I thought you two were, you know, serious."

"Yeah, I guess I just realized that what I really wanted was to be with Pam."

"How about that." Toby smiles faintly, but he actually looks sad for some reason, which makes Jim think that Toby must have really liked Karen.

"Well, that's great," Toby says, only he doesn't sound like it's very great.

"So, what do you say, Toby? Please?"

Toby stares at him for a while, like he's trying to decide whether or not to do it, which is ridiculous, because it's not like Jim's going to start nailing dead squirrels to Pam's door. Finally Toby sighs one of his defeated-sounding Toby sighs and opens his file drawer. "I guess Pam won't mind."

"Thanks a lot, Toby, you're a champ." Jim stands and shifts impatiently from foot to foot while Toby copies the address onto a post-it.

"Good luck," Toby says kind of wistfully when he hands it over.

"Thanks, man!" Jim makes a silent vow to take Toby out to lunch next week as a thank you.

So, it's 5:30, but there's still time for Jim to race home, shower, change, pick up the flowers and get to Pam's, which turns out not to be too far from her old place. All he has to do is―

"Jim! Good, you're still here," says Michael, emerging suddenly from his office. "I was thinking of heading over to Applebee's for a cold one, wanna come with?"

"Actually, I'm just on my way―"

"Two dollar Bahama Mamas until seven!" Michael illustrates with a little dance that Jim assumes is meant to be Bahamian, but looks more like an old man slipping in the shower.

Jim suppresses a smile. "Sounds like fun, but unfortunately I've already got plans, and I'm sort of late, so―"

"Hot date with Karen?"

"Um..."

"I've got a hottie waiting at home, too, you know."

Jim edges toward the door. "That's great, so I'll see you―"

"Yeah, the little woman's probably waiting to greet me, all wrapped up in Saran Wrap like Kathy Bates." Michael shudders. "Just before she breaks both of James Caan's ankles."

"I think you may be mixing up _Misery_ and _Fried Green Tomatoes_."

"Really? Hmmm. Listen, we're friends, you and me. _Campadres. Amigas_. I can confide in you, right?"

"Sure," Jim says, with a feeling of deepest foreboding.

"The thing is... " Michael leans in close enough that Jim can smell the Jolly Ranchers on his breath. "The thing is, I'm sort of afraid to go home."

"Because..."

"Jan's there."

"Oh."

"It's just that when Jan and I were together before, it wasn't exactly a nurturing, healthy partnership, you know? But she's very fragile right now and after that awful, horrible scene this morning..."

"Yeah," Jim says uncomfortably.

"Suddenly she's talking about moving in with me and wearing stretch pants and joining something called a key club, which I don't even know what that is..."

"Wow." Jim starts edging away again.

"I just―I don't know what to do and I need someone to talk to. _Mano y mano_."

"Gee, Michael. I _really_ wish I could stay, it's just that I've got―"

"You've got plans, right. Sure." Michael tries to wave it off like it's nothing, but his lower lip is trembling and his face is all pinched like he's trying not to cry.

Jim feels like he just stomped on a baby bird. "Hey, what about tomorrow? We could go out to lunch, maybe?"

"Nah, it's fine. I'll be fine," Michael says, his voice breaking. "Go, have your great evening."

Jim would gladly give one hundred thousand dollars to have Dwight back in the office right now. But Dwight's probably off enjoying a romantic book burning with Angela instead of here taking care of Michael like he's supposed to be.

He looks at his watch and then back at Michael. "I can give you ten minutes. But then I _have_ to go, okay?"

Michael's so grateful he does a goofy sort of skipping hop and throws his arm around Jim's shoulders. "Lemme ask you, do you and Karen ever use props in your lovemaking? Because Jan's been talking about something called anal beads and I'm not really..."

Twenty-five minutes later Jim finally manages to extricate himself from Michael's office, feeling drained and nauseated. At one point he actually resorted to reciting the Gettysburg Address in his head in order to block out a description of one Michael and Jan's more disturbing adventures in roleplaying. And he had to give Michael a hug before he could get away. A long, creepy hug.

At this point there's no way Jim has time to go home, shower _and_ stop for Pam's flowers. He reluctantly chooses to forgo the flowers because after that conversation with Michael he _needs_ the shower.

Traffic is, predictably, a bitch, and to make matters worse, one of the signal lights by his apartment is stuck blinking red which adds an extra ten minutes to the commute. He takes the fastest shower of his life but has no time to shave or try to do something with the ridiculous haircut Karen talked him into getting. And then when he pulls on the shirt he was planning to wear, one of the damn buttons pops off.

Now he's running late _and_ he's got to pick another shirt and DAMMIT he really liked the way he looked in the other one and he can't decide if Pam would like him better in brown or black and he doesn't have TIME to stand here deliberating but he really wants to look good and FUCK this night is not going the way he planned. He grabs the brown shirt because the black has these epaulets on the shoulders that he's not entirely sure about even though Karen told him they were cool and really that's enough reason right there not to wear the black shirt tonight.

On his way out he stops by the kitchen and grabs something out of the pantry because he will be damned if he's going show up at Pam's door late _and_ empty-handed.

The traffic light is still broken, which is awesome, only not, and Jim has plenty of time on the drive over to Pam's to contemplate exactly how much he's fucked up his plan for The Perfect Date.

At least he knows he has the right CD in the car. Except when he opens the Rogue Wave case there's a Shout Out Louds CD in there and inside the Shout Out Louds case is a Wilco CD and inside that case is a mix Karen made him, which he hides in the glove box, and he DOES NOT HAVE TIME for this shit. He ends up shoving DeVotchka into the CD player, which is probably okay, but not what he planned. Because apparently nothing is allowed to go like he planned tonight.

After missing Pam's street twice, he finally pulls up in front of her apartment at 7:20. There's a really long pause after he rings the bell and he wonders if a) Toby gave him the wrong address, or b) Pam gave up waiting for him and went out on her own.

And then she opens the door and her hair's loose and curly and she's wearing a bright blue sun dress and she looks so gorgeous that Jim just sort of stands there with his mouth open.

"Hey," she says, and she doesn't really sound pissed but there's something guarded about her expression and he knows it's because he's so late.

"Hey," Jim manages, his voice coming out way huskier than he intended.

"I was starting to wonder―"

"I know, I'm really sorry. There was kind of this thing with Michael and I couldn't get away."

"What happened with Michael?"

"You know, I don't think I'm really ready to talk about it yet."

"That bad?" she says, raising her eyebrows.

"Worse. So, um, you look great, by the way. _Really_ great."

"Thanks, so do you." Pam looks down at the package he's holding awkwardly in his hands. "What's that?"

"Oh, uh, I wanted to get you flowers, but then I didn't have time because of Michael, so I brought you flour." He holds the half-empty bag of flour out lamely.

"Oh." Pam looks confused, which wasn't exactly the effect he was going for. She also doesn't take the flour.

"It's from _Stranger than Fiction_," he says pathetically.

"I haven't seen that yet."

"Oh, well there's this really great scene in the movie... which I've now totally ruined for you, and this is so not going the way I wanted it to." He really wishes the ground would open up and swallow him before this gets worse. Unsurprisingly, the ground does not comply.

"No, it's sweet," says Pam, obviously trying to make him feel better.

"It's not sweet, it's lame. I had this whole plan for tonight and then it got screwed up and I'm sorry, because I really wanted everything to be perfect."

If only he could go back in time and blow off Diane―whom he officially hates now―and do this the right way because this is Pam and she deserves nothing less than perfection. After everything they've been through to get here she sure as hell deserves a better date than this is turning out to be.

But Pam just smiles at him, her eyes shining so brightly it makes Jim's breath hitch in his chest. "I think it's going great so far," she says.

"Really?"

"Really." She reaches out to take the bag of flour and when her fingers touch his it's like an electric jolt. Instead of pulling away, Pam stays still, her hands lightly resting against his.

It's all the encouragement Jim needs. He leans in closer, close enough to feel her breath on his lips, and she's still smiling at him so he kisses her. Her lip gloss tastes like cotton candy and she stands on her tiptoes and puts one hand on his shoulder for balance and Jim slips a hand around her waist, pulling her even closer. The stupid bag of flour is pressed awkwardly between them and when it finally starts to fall Pam pulls away to grab it and they both giggle like teenagers.

Jim would be happy to keep kissing her all night, but they've got a date to go on and dinner reservations which they're running late for so he waits patiently while Pam puts the flour in her apartment. On the way to the car she lets him hold her hand and he considers kissing her again before he opens her door, but then decides they'd probably never make it to dinner, so he kisses the back of her hand instead.

When he starts the engine "You Love Me" is playing and Pam says, "Oh my god, I love this song!" and beams at him so happily it makes his stomach lurch.

Maybe he'll still get his Perfect Date with Pam after all. 


	3. A Good Start

Pam watches Jim while he drives and he's so devastatingly handsome it makes her breath catch in her throat. He glances over, catches her looking at him, and smiles. At the next red light Pam works up the nerve to lay her hand on his knee. He puts his hand on top of hers and squeezes. She glances out the window and smiles at the setting sun. She can't quite believe she's actually here with Jim. _Here_. With _Jim_. He threads their fingers together and she smiles even wider.

He's made reservations for them at Michaelangelo's, which is a really nice restaurant—nicer than Pam's used to. Even though she dropped a few not-so-subtle hints, Roy never brought her here, a fact for which she is now profoundly grateful because it means it can be her special place with Jim. She pictures them coming back here every year to celebrate their anniversary and grins like a little girl. _Slow down_, she tells herself. _One date at a time_.

When the hostess leads them to their table, Jim places his hand in the small of Pam's back, sending a flood of shivers up and down her spine.

"Do you want get some wine?" he asks when they're seated. "Or maybe a couple of kamikazes?" He gives her a lopsided grin and Pam's heart skips a beat.

"Wine sounds great."

The wine list is heavy enough to use as a blunt weapon and staring at the names of all the Burgundies and Cabernets and Rieslings makes Pam feel out of her depth.

Jim seems to know exactly what to do, though, and after asking whether she likes red or white he smoothly orders a bottle of Pinot Grigio with an impressive-sounding Italian name. She wonders when he became so worldly and if it was something he picked up in Stamford.

Then it occurs to her that maybe Jim's always been like this and she just never saw that side of him. He's probably the type of guy who takes girls to fancy restaurants all the time. Which then of course makes her wonder if he ever brought Karen here. Her stomach flips unpleasantly and she shakes her head quickly, trying to get rid of the jealous feeling snaking its way through her brain. _No_, she tells herself. _He's here with you now. Karen's in New York. She doesn't matter anymore_.

She distracts herself by reading the dinner menu. Everything sounds exotic and delicious but she chooses the roast chicken because it's one of the cheapest entrées. Then when Jim orders the filet mignon for himself she feels stupid and wishes she'd been more adventurous. She wonders if she should change her order, but starts to panic and ends up handing her menu to the waiter. The whole asking-for-what-you-want thing still needs some work.

Once the waiter leaves there's an awkward lull in the conversation. Pam nervously picks at a slice of bread, suddenly keenly aware of exactly how strange it is to be all dressed up and in a place like this with Jim. Even when they were friends they hardly ever ate out alone together. And never anywhere this nice. Seeing him across the table from her, looking totally hot in that dark brown shirt with no tie for a change, he's like a completely different person from the one she used to share Cokes with in the break room. She looks away nervously.

"Oh, hey," Jim finally says, breaking the silence. "What was up with Dwight walking you out earlier? Are you two like BFFs now?"

She perks up. "Oh my god, you don't know about my super secret promotion!"

Jim's eyes get wide and he grins in delight. "Dwight gave you a super secret promotion? Beesly, you're holding out on me!"

She tells him all about being secret assistant to the regional manager for half a day and Jim laughs when she gets to the part about her yelling at everyone in the conference room. With the return to familiar conversational terrain it starts to feel more like old times again and Pam relaxes a little.

"So," she says, taking another sip of wine, "what happened with Michael? You know you have to tell me, no matter how awful it is."

"Okay," Jim says, resting his forearms on the table. "I will tell you, but then we must never speak of it again."

Pam laughs. "Deal."

"Well, I don't know if you know this, but apparently dating Michael has caused Jan to go completely bat-shit bonkers." And then he tells her about Jan spilling her crazy all over the floor at corporate.

"Yikes," she says.

"Exactly. And while a normal person would probably try to back away from the crazy, Michael's response, of course, was to immediately invite her to move in with him."

"Oh, that is not good," Pam says, shaking her head. "Those two make a really messed up couple."

"You're telling me? I'm the one who got stuck after work today listening to Michael's sordid stories of their sexual escapades."

Pam leans forward excitedly. "Like what?"

Jim shudders dramatically. "Let's just say it involves the phrase 'pony play' and leave it at that."

"Oh my god!" Pam squeals, then slaps her hands over her mouth when she realizes that some of the other diners are staring at her. "I mean, oh my god!" she repeats more quietly.

"I know! Nature recoils. As, by the way, did I."

"Ugh. That's just—okay, you know what?" she says. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about work after all."

"That is an excellent idea," Jim says, leaning back in his chair. "I don't really want to bring Dwight and Michael along on our date. So what should we talk about instead?"

"I don't know, anything."

"Hmmm." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "How about movies?"

Pam shakes her head. "I haven't really seen many movies this year."

"Why not? I thought you loved movies."

"Yeah, I dunno. I guess I haven't had anyone to go with, really."

"Oh." Jim gives her a sort of pitying look which is so not what she wanted. She's basically turned her whole life around and she wants him to be proud of her, not feel sorry for her.

"What about television?" she says to change the subject. "Have you been watching 'Project Runway'?"

"No, I actually... I haven't really been watching that much TV." He becomes intensely interested in brushing the crumbs off the tablecloth in front of him.

Right," says Pam. "Of course." Duh, because of Karen. He would have been too busy taking his girlfriend out to movies and fancy restaurants while Pam was home alone eating Pasta Roni and watching "Skating with Celebrities."

She flails around for something else to talk about. "So, are you still living with Mark?"

"No, he got married, actually."

"Married! When?" She kind of can't believe Mark and Lisa got married and she didn't even know. It's a symbol of just how much she and Jim have drifted apart.

Jim sits up a little straighter. "Last fall."

"Wow, that's great. So it's just you in the new place?"

"Well, me and the family of midgets living under the sink, yeah."

Pam looks at him seriously. "And do the midgets come standard with the unit or do you have to pay extra for that kind of an upgrade?"

Jim laughs. "Definitely extra for the midgets."

She loves that she can still make him laugh. "So is it a nice place? Do you like it?"

"Yeah, it's pretty cool. It's not as big as Mark's, but it's all mine. I can leave my delicate unmentionables lying around the house if I want."

"You have a lot of delicate unmentionables, do you?"

"A few," Jim says, quirking a smile.

"I guess it's gonna be kind of weird for you now, with Karen still living right down the street," Pam says.

"Yeah." Jim's smile fades. "Can we maybe not talk about Karen?"

It bothers her that he doesn't want to talk about Karen, even though she knows it shouldn't. "We're gonna have to talk about her eventually."

"Why? We never talked about Roy."

"There's nothing to talk about, I didn't marry him." She shrugs like it's nothing, like it didn't turn her whole world upside down.

"Hey, thanks for the heads up about that, by the way." He says it lightly, and with a crooked grin, but it's not quite enough to disguise the bitterness.

She looks down at her lap, where her fingers are absently tracing the place where her engagement ring used to be. There's not even a dent anymore. "Yeah, well, I looked, but it turns out they don't make _un_save-the-date cards."

"Too bad you didn't have access to a phone or anything," he says in that same jokey way, but she sees right through it.

The sarcasm hurts and she lashes out, the words coming out even harsher than she intended. "Maybe you should have stuck around long enough to find out for yourself."

"Wow," Jim says, his voice low and cold.

"I'm sorry," she says quickly. "I didn't mean—"

"No, what was I supposed to do, Pam? Wait for you forever? Let you reject me a few more times?"

The anger in his expression makes her stomach twist in knots. She doesn't want to be talking about this now, but somehow she can't just let it go, either. She spent too many months keeping everything inside to just drop it now that they've started.

"You have no idea..." She pauses, takes a breath. "This year has been really hard for me. It would have been nice to have my best friend around to talk to."

"I tried to talk to you when I came back."

She gapes at him and feels hot anger bubble up. "When? The day you completely ignored me and then flaunted your new girlfriend in my face?"

"No, in the parking lot, when you told me that we were just _friends_, and that I should do whatever I wanted. Thanks for the permission, by the way."

She can't believe they're having this argument. Not now. Not when they were so happy just a few minutes ago. "What was I supposed to say?" she hisses, trying not to raise her voice.

"Pam. I said I—," Jim starts, but the waiter appears with their food and they both fall silent. She takes a sip of wine but it leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

"You know what?" Jim says quietly when the waiter leaves. "Let's just drop it."

"Fine," Pam says. But it's not fine. She stares miserably at her stupid twenty-three dollar baked chicken. Her appetite is completely gone and she has no idea how they ended up here.

Jim's not eating either, just pushing his mashed potatoes around with his fork. But Pam's angry. And he more he picks at his food, the angrier she gets.

"Why didn't you come to my art show?" she asks.

"What?" he looks up from his uneaten steak.

"My art show," she repeats firmly. "You had to know how important that night was for me."

"Yeah," he says, avoiding her eyes.

"I guess Karen probably didn't want you to go, right? I mean, I guess I could understand—"

"That's not it. It had nothing to do with Karen."

Pam feels like she's caught in an avalanche and the ice and the snow are dragging her down towards the jagged rocks waiting at the bottom. She doesn't say anything, just looks at Jim and waits.

He sighs, sits back in his chair and looks her straight in the eye. "I wasn't at your art show because I didn't want to go."

The words fall from his mouth like razor blades but she doesn't flinch. She sits perfectly still. Doesn't breathe. Doesn't blink. Her pulse is roaring like thunder in her ears.

"I'm sorry," Jim says, a little desperately. "But you and Roy were back together and I'd already—"

"I want to go home," Pam says abruptly.

"—seen about all I..." Jim stops and stares at her. "What did you say?"

"I want to go home," she repeats slowly. Her throat feels raw and tight and she knows if she's not careful she's going to cry.

Jim looks frightened. "Please, Pam, let's not do this." His voice is pleading with her and so are his eyes.

She looks at him and thinks she should probably feel sad, but she's numb all over and the only thing she knows for sure is that she can't stay here a minute longer. "Are you going to take me home or should I call a cab?"

He looks at her helplessly, like he's trying to think of some way to talk her out of this. Then he shakes his head and the muscles in his jaw tighten. "I'll take you home. Let me just pay the check first."

"I'll wait by the car." Pam grabs her purse and flees the restaurant.

The night air feels cold while she waits for Jim to come outside. It's even colder inside the car on the drive back. Neither of them speak. When the CD cycles back around to "You Love Me," Jim reaches over and turns it off.

They pull up in front of her apartment and he turns to look at her for the first time since the restaurant. "Listen, Pam—"

She doesn't wait to hear what he has to say. This is already the worst night of her life and she just can't handle anything else so she jumps out of the car and runs up the walk to her apartment. When she's inside she leans against the door, listening. A minute later she hears Jim's car drive away.

Pam sinks to the floor and cries. 


	4. The Bleeding Heart Show

When Jim's alarm goes off Friday morning he's already awake, staring morosely at the bumps on his ceiling. He was way too busy reliving his catastrophic first date with Pam last night to get any sleep. He still can't believe some of the things he said to her. He can't believe some of the things she said to him, either.

And now he's surpassed even Roy in the Worst First Date contest. Jim Halpert for the win, ladies and gentlemen.

He wishes he'd kissed her again by the car at the beginning of the date. Maybe then they would have missed their dinner reservation. Maybe they wouldn't have had that horrible fight. Maybe he'd never have to have seen the look on her face when he told her why he wasn't at her art show.

And if wishes were ponies he'd be knee-deep in shit. Reluctantly, he drags himself out of bed, cuts himself three times shaving, and nearly brushes his teeth with Tinactin. His eyes stare back at him from the bathroom mirror, red and hollow. He gets dressed mechanically and drives to work in a daze.

When he pulls into the parking lot Pam's car is already there and he feels a sharp pain wending its way from his heart to his throat. He sits in the car for a while, spinning the keyring on his index finger, trying to figure out what he's going to do when he sees her. Should he wait for her to say something first? Should he try to apologize? He has no idea how to move forward from where they left things.

His phone buzzes and he fumbles for it, desperately hoping it's Pam, but it's a text from Karen. "OMW back from NY. We need to talk." And now this day is, like, perfect.

It takes him another five minutes to work up the courage to go inside. When he does Pam's there sitting at her desk, just like every morning. Only this morning when he comes in she looks away, refusing to even acknowledge his presence, and Jim's heart caves in on itself. And of course there's Randall the cameraman, capturing every agonizing moment for posterity.

He walks numbly to his desk and takes off his jacket. He cannot possibly survive a whole day of feeling like this. Screw it, he's going to go talk to her. Right now. Cameras be damned, he's got to try and fix this.

As he approaches the reception desk Pam turns her back to him and puts something in the fax. Not really a promising start, but Jim refuses to be deterred. His resolve is rock solid.

Just as he opens his mouth to say something Dwight comes in and pauses at Pam's desk. "Good morning, Pam."

Jim immediately aborts Operation Talk To Pam and develops a sudden interest in finding a green jelly bean.

"Good morning, Dwight." Pam actually looks up and smiles at Dwight. _Dwight_!

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim sees the camera swing back to him for a reaction. He tries really hard not have one.

Dwight looks him up and down suspiciously. "You look like crap, Jim."

"Thanks, Dwight." He pops a jelly bean in his mouth and sneaks a glance at Pam, but she's still ignoring him.

"Hey, Pam," Dwight says, leaning on the counter, "is that the same water bottle you were drinking from yesterday?"

"Um, yes." Pam glances nervously from the water bottle to Dwight.

"Did you know that there are carcinogenic toxins in the plastic that break down and seep into your water? If you use a disposable water bottle for longer than 24 hours, it will give you cancer."

"Yeah, I don't think that's true," Pam says, turning back to the fax machine.

Wow, it must be a really important fax, Jim thinks sourly, the way she's hand feeding each sheet in one by one instead of using the automatic document feeder.

You know what? Forget it. There's no way he's talking to Pam with Dwight hanging around. Jim gives up and goes back to his desk, leaving them to their fascinating conversation.

"No, it's totally true," Dwight insists. "That's how Alanis Morissette got breast cancer."

"Alanis Morissette never had—"

"Cancer is no one's friend, Pam. Except for cockroaches. They're just waiting for us to die off so they can rule the earth again. Do you want to help the cockroaches?"

Randall turns the camera on Jim for a reaction to Dwight's idiocy, and he somehow manages to muster the expected look of exasperation.

When the camera moves away he opens his email in the vain hope that Pam might have sent him a note. But there's nothing in his inbox but a string of forwards from Michael and some spam advising him to "Listen to the voice of your penis." Awesome.

He starts up his instant messaging client, but it says Pam's unavailable. Only she's not unavailable, she's sitting RIGHT THERE, talking to Dwight about cockroaches.

He notices the blinking light on his phone and scrambles for the handset, remembering the day she left him seven messages. He's got two voicemails... and both of them are from customers.

Pam is literally three yards from him but she's never felt further away. And every time the door opens, he worries that it's going to be Karen, which does nothing to improve his state of mind.

To distract himself, Jim decides to start returning some of the calls that stacked up while he was in New York. Thanks to a miscounted order he ends up doing actual work for a whole half hour.

When he gets off the phone Dwight's back at his own desk and Pam still hasn't signed on to IM. His new mail notifier is flashing, though. This time it's an email forward from Kelly warning him about muggers who use ether-laced perfume on their victims. Delete.

Ken stops by his desk. "Hey, Jim, you ready?"

"What?"

And then he remembers. The interview. The one he promised to do today. Crap. Ken's going to ask him about Karen and about Pam and about the date last night and what the hell is he supposed to say?

"You promised," Ken says. "I didn't send the cameras along last night and you said—"

"I know," Jim says, rubbing his forehead. "It's just... Look, things didn't exactly..." He stops, afraid to say too much. "It wouldn't really make for a very interesting interview."

Ken gives him a wry grin. "Yeah, it's funny how people always say that before giving the really good interviews."

As luck would have it Michael chooses this exact moment to come out of his office and announce that he's implementing a series of policies to make the office more environmentally friendly. "Everyone in the conference room!" he shouts excitedly over the general chorus of groans.

Ken grimaces and Jim gives him a what-are-you-gonna-do shrug even though secretly he's overjoyed to sit through one of Michael's inane meetings if it gets him out of a humiliating on-camera interview.

He heads into the conference room and sinks into a chair. There's a picture of a baby panda bear inexplicably taped to the wall and he stares at it curiously. Pam comes in a minute later, her gaze slipping over him like he's not even there. She clutches her notebook to her chest and takes a seat on the other side of the room from him, next to Dwight. Jim watches darkly as Dwight leans over and says something to her and she smiles back. It's like she's formed an alliance with Dwight just to spite him. Jim crosses his arms and stares at at his shoes, resolved not to look at her again.

"As of today, Dunder-Mifflin Scranton is a paperless office," Michael announces proudly when everyone is seated.

Phyllis raises her hand tentatively. "But we _sell_ paper."

"Really, Phyllis?" Michael snaps. "Because after 14 years I had no idea that this is a paper company."

Phyllis answers with a death glare which Michael ignores.

"Obviously we're not reducing the paper we _sell_. We're reducing the paper we use, which saves the company money, saves trees, and saves endangered baby panda bears." He gestures proudly at the picture on the wall. "Win-win-win."

Dwight's hand shoots into the air. "Question: how does it save panda bears?"

"Because pandas live in the rainforests that will not be chopped down thanks to our environmentally friendly policies."

"Pandas don't live in rainforests," Pam points out tersely, and Jim can't resist looking up at the sound of her voice. She looks tired and annoyed and he takes more satisfaction from that fact than he probably should.

Michael gives her a condescending look. "Of course they do, Pam. I think you're confusing them with polar bears, who live in the Antarctic. And instead of questioning my zoo-olo-logical knowledge you should be taking notes. I want you to type up a list of the new policies and make copies for everyone in the office."

The look that crosses Pam's face elicits Jim's first smile of the whole day.

"Okely dokely," Michael says. "First of all, no more using fax cover sheets. That's simple enough, right?"

There are a few wary nods around the room.

"We will also be eliminating all paper and styrofoam cups from the kitchen. Also plastic eating utensils."

"How am I supposed to eat my Cup O' Noodles?" Kevin asks.

"Bring a spoon from home, Kevin."

"All I have at home are plastic spoons I stole from here," Kevin whispers, and Jim gives him a sympathetic look.

"No more paper napkins, paper towels or Kleenex," Michael continues.

"No Kleenex?" Toby says. "Don't you think that's a little unreasonable?"

Michael's eyes narrow to slits. "No, Toby, unlike you, I do not hate the planet, so I think it's the least we can do."

"I'm affected by seasonal allergies," Angela says.

"Handkerchiefs," Michael says. "They're environmentally friendly and they're fashionable."

"Ugh," Kelly says, making a face. "Handkerchiefs are, like, so gross. And totally unsanitary."

"Who even uses handkerchiefs anymore?" Oscar says.

Dwight smiles smugly. "I never leave the house without a handkerchief in my pocket."

"Exactly," Oscar mutters.

Michael is starting to get that wild-eyed look like his head might pop off at any moment, which cheers Jim up a little. And then Karen walks into the room and all his cheer evaporates.

She pauses in the doorway and looks from Jim over to where Pam's sitting across the room, then back at Jim. Her appearance is as flawless as always—the pitiful jilted girlfriend is not exactly Karen's style—and he's suddenly conscious of how shitty he must look today. He stares back down at his shoes, grateful for Meredith and Kevin taking up the seats on either side of him.

Karen finds an empty chair next to Andy, who leans in to whisper something to her. Whatever it is, Karen suddenly looks like she wants to vomit. Pam, meanwhile, stares intensely at her notebook like she's busy taking notes and successfully ignores everyone.

Michael continues to rattle off his list of increasingly ridiculous policies, which Jim pays only marginal attention to, until the meeting finally degenerates into a general cacophony of grumbling and complaining.

"This is the hottest spring we've had this century." Michael shouts over the din. "And do you know why? Daylight Savings started a whole month early this year. You'd think they would have considered the effect that a whole extra month of daylight would have on the planet, but apparently not. So now it's up to us to take action before we all end up swimming to work every day."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Stanley says.

Michael reaches over and tears the picture of the panda off the wall, brandishing it for emphasis. "Save the panda, save the world, Stanley. Can you live with yourself if you let the pandas die?"

"Yes," Stanley says sourly before going back to his crossword.

"The tribe has spoken! And by tribe, I mean me. Reduce, reuse, recycle! That's going to be our new mission statement from now on, and if you don't like it... well then you can just talk to the hand."

"Reduce, reuse, recycle," Andy repeats. "That's a really cool slogan, did you make that up yourself?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Michael says proudly.

Jim can't resist looking toward the camera and shaking his head.

"You should, like, totally have that put that on a t-shirt or something," says Andy, engaging his hyper suck-up drive.

Michael beams. "Good idea! I just wish everyone were as excited about saving the planet as Andy, here. Pam, see how much it would cost to have a bunch of t-shirts and posters printed up."

"But doesn't that defeat the whole—"

"Just do it, please." Michael wads up the picture of the baby panda and tosses it into the trashcan rather than the recycling bin sitting right beside it. Jim watches as the camera captures all of it, then turns to Pam for a reaction shot. She smiles wanly and stares back down at her notebook.

As soon as the meeting ends Jim rockets out of his chair. He's halfway to his desk when Karen intercepts him and asks if they can talk. He desperately wants to say no, but he can't really think of a nice way out of it so he follows her glumly into the kitchen.

There's really nothing left to talk about, he thinks, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the counter. Not that that ever stopped Karen before.

"I've been thinking about what you said yesterday..." Karen says, pacing nervously.

Jim tries to pay attention, but all he can think about is how much he doesn't want to be here. And anyway isn't one of the benefits of breaking up with your girlfriend supposed to be that you no longer have to care what she thinks?

He sneaks a look through the blinds and sees that Dwight is back at Pam's desk, leaning over the counter and talking to her animatedly about something or other. And then Pam looks over at the kitchen and for the first time that day they make eye contact. Jim smiles uncertainly. Pam looks immediately away. Nice.

Karen's still talking and he tunes back in just in time to hear, "—work on this some more before we just give up."

He stands up straight. "Wait, what?"

She gives him an exasperated look. "I said that we've got something worth saving here and I think we should give this another—"

"No, Karen, I thought you understood I—" He falters. How can he say this so she'll get it? "There's nothing to work on. I don't want to be in this relationship anymore."

"Oh." She looks upset for a second, then quickly rallies. "Okay. Well maybe if we took a break, you know, spent some time apart..."

"I'm in love with Pam."

"You say that, but—"

"We went on date last night."

Karen recoils like she's been slapped. "Okay, then."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I mean, you waited, what? Three whole hours after you broke up with me, right? You gotta move on sometime."

He sighs. "I told you yesterday—"

"I know," she says quietly, shoulders slumping. "I'm the idiot that came back here thinking maybe I still had a chance. Way to take a hint, Filippelli."

There's pain in her voice and Jim hates that it's his fault. And it's not like he doesn't care about her. She's this amazing, cool person and he really wanted to make it work with her. Part of him still kind of wishes he had.

He reaches out and takes her hand, giving it a squeeze. "It's my fault. I don't think I did any of this right."

"No, I really…I just wanted... well, this," Karen says, holding up their intertwined fingers. "I wanted this. A lot."

"I did too, but, Karen, it was like I was just going through the motions and I can't do it anymore. You deserve better than that."

"Yeah, I always was out of your league, Halpert." She smiles thinly and he's relieved that she's not exploding all over him. "So how'd your interview go, anyway?" she says.

He shrugs. "No idea."

"You haven't heard anything?"

"No, have you?"

She shakes her head. "At least we know it's probably not going to be Michael, huh?"

They both laugh. Jim happens to glance out the window and sees Pam watching them. He lets go of Karen's hand.

"Yeah, so I think I'm probably going to take a sick day," Karen says. "I can't really hang around here and watch you and Pam... you know."

It makes Jim feel kind of ill to think about how very much it's not like that, but he can't say that to Karen so he just ducks his head awkwardly.

"If it's okay, I'll come by this weekend to pick up my stuff," she says. "I've got a hoodie and some t-shirts—"

"—and that hairdryer," he adds.

"Yeah and my Shins CD."

"Sure," Jim says. "That's fine, just, uh, call me."

Karen looks at him. "I guess this is it, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess it is."

She's just standing there so Jim steps forward and hugs her. He's afraid maybe it'll be one of those awful clingy hugs that he has to forcibly extricate himself from, but he should have known Karen's stronger than that. It's over before he knows it.

He follows her out of the kitchen and manages to slink back to his desk without looking in Pam's direction.

Karen thumps the surface of his desk on her way out. "See you later, Halpert."

"Yeah," Jim mutters, nodding at her once before averting his gaze to stare intently at his computer screen. He's certain he can feel Pam's eyes boring a hole in the back of his skull.

He checks his instant messenger again but Pam's still "unavailable." There's a new email in his inbox but it's from Kevin—a link to a video of a gorilla picking its nose. Delete.

After the conversation in the kitchen he feels better about the way he left things with Karen. But he knows Pam saw them talking and now he's afraid she might get the wrong idea. He considers trying to talk to her again but Kelly's standing at the front desk chittering about some hairbrush that, like, totally changed her life.

He starts a new email to Pam. On further consideration he deletes her name from the "To:" field because the last thing he needs is to accidentally send her a half-written note.

He tabs to the body of the email. Stares at the screen. Has absolutely no idea what he wants to stay.

Baby steps, he tells himself. Start small.

_Pam-_

Yeah, that isn't working. He deletes and starts over.

_Hi, Pam_

Lamer. Should he be more casual?

_Hey there._

Blargh. Forget the greeting. Just start writing.

Hmmmm.

The cursor blinks at him tauntingly. Come on, dummy, write something. He presses his fists against his eyelids, trying to will the perfectly worded email into his brain.

His instant messenger dings and he lunges for the mouse.

>   
> **Kevin Malone:**     Did u watch the video? Isnt it awesome???

  
Then Ken taps him on the shoulder and points to where Randall's setting up the camera in the conference room. "Let's go, Jim."

"Um, I'm kinda busy right now—"

"Yeah, you can probably watch the gorilla pick his nose later," Ken says.

Jim hauls himself to his feet and trudges to the conference room like a condemned man. He stops just inside the doorway and looks back across the office. His eyes meet Pam's just before Ken shuts the door.

While Ken and Randall finish getting everything set up Jim fidgets in his chair and cracks his knuckles nervously

"Okay," Ken says. "You ready?"

Jim nods numbly.

"Tell me about what happened with you and Karen in New York yesterday."

"Uh..." Jim clears his throat. His mouth is full of cotton and his palms are sweaty. He wonders if this is what the beginning of a panic attack feels like. "We, um, broke up."

After a pause Ken says, "Uh huh. Can you expand on that a little? And remember I need you to make it clear who you're talking about."

"Right, sorry."

"Try to incorporate the question into the beginning of your answer. You're great at this Jim, so just relax, okay?"

"Okay," he says, as if relaxing's actually an option at this point.

"Go ahead whenever you're ready."

Jim opens his mouth to speak and his mind goes utterly and completely blank. "Um... geez, I'm sorry, what was it you wanted me to talk about again?"

"Tell me what happened with you and Karen in New York yesterday," Ken repeats patiently.

Jim nods. "So, Karen and I broke up yesterday..." He pauses, his mind racing for something he can say that doesn't reveal too much. "Things have been sort of winding down between us for a while and... well, it just felt like it was time. It's amicable, though. I mean, so far. Karen's great and, you know, we work together and all, so I'd really like to stay friends." He grimaces. "Wow, that's not a cliché or anything."

Ken nods approvingly, though. "Good. Now can you describe what you did when you got back from New York and why?"

"When I got back?" Jim says dully. "You mean—"

"The Pam stuff," Ken says. "Just talk as much as you can about what you did and why, and, you know, what happened after."

Jim nods, wipes his palms on his pants legs, and starts. "After I got back from New York yesterday I asked Pam out on a date. And... she said yes."

"What finally made you do it?"

"I did it because... because of what she said on the beach the other night. And because she put this note..." Jim pauses. What the hell, he figures. "I did it because I'm in love with her. I mean, it's not like it was exactly a secret or anything, right?"

Ken's smiling now. This is exactly what he was looking for. "Great! Now tell me about the date."

"The date," Jim repeats, as his insides go cold. "The date, yeah. Um... I picked her up at her apartment and we went to dinner. At Michaelangelo's." He stops and presses his lips together.

"How was it?" Ken prompts.

"How was it? It was..." Feeling queasy, he looks into the camera and then looks back at Ken. Doesn't say anything.

Ken frowns. "Jim?"

"Yeah?" He can feel the sweat beading on his forehead.

"Can you tell me how it went?"

Jim shakes his head and stares down at his hands. "No, I really can't. I'm sorry, man."

"Are you okay?" Ken asks gently.

"Not even remotely," Jim says, leaning forward and pressing his head into his hands. He knows Randall is zooming in for a closer look at his misery. "Can you turn off the camera now? Because I can't do this anymore." 


	5. Middle of Nowhere

If Pam cranes her neck just right, she can make out the back of Jim's head through the mini-blinds of the conference room as he's doing his on-camera interview. It's not much, but it's about all the communication she's had with him today.

The way things are going, it may be all the communication they'll ever have. This morning when he came into the office she couldn't even bring herself to look at him. The facade of composure she had stapled on before work was such a fragile, tenuous thing that she was afraid if she looked into Jim's eyes she'd shatter into a million irreparable pieces, right there in front of everyone.

And then when she finally did allow herself to look at him, he was with Karen. Holding Karen's hand. Laughing with Karen. Hugging Karen. Thinking about it leaves a sour, acrid taste in the back of Pam's throat.

If she's honest with herself, Pam's always been jealous of Karen. Of the way Karen seemed to slide right into her new life in Scranton, the way she seems to be able to just reach out and take whatever she wants. She always looks perfectly put together even on her worst days, she has a circle of friends to support her, and she probably knows exactly how much pasta to cook so she doesn't end up with a million Tupperware containers littering her fridge. Unlike Pam. And, of course, Karen had Jim. Or has Jim. Unlike Pam.

She leans forward even further, just in time to see Jim put his head in his hands. It makes her heart ache and she wants so desperately to go to him. To walk into the conference room, hug him, and tell him that she's sorry and she loves him and can they please have another chance. But the cameras are in there, and what if he tells her it's too late, that he and Karen are back together? She doesn't know what to do.

The main office line rings, giving her an excuse to do nothing.

"Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam," she says hollowly.

"Pam, it's Jan. Again. I'm looking for Michael, can you put me through, please?"

There's something approaching desperation in the tone of Jan's voice, but when Pam looks over at Michael's office he's slashing his finger across his throat and shaking his head. He mouths, "Do. Not. Put. Her. Through," and then shuts his blinds.

"Um, he's…on a sales call right now. I'll pass along a message, though."

"I've left four messages. So either he's not calling me back or you're not giving them to him," Jan snaps.

"No, I—"

"Never mind. I'll try his cell," she responds curtly before hanging up.

Michael comes bounding out of his office and leans over the front desk. Pam tries to look busy stapling waste paper into homemade note pads, in the vain hope he'll go away without talking to her.

"Tell her I'm busy," he says, as if they're already in the middle of a conversation.

"Tell who what?" Pam says, feigning ignorance.

"Jan. Tell her I'm busy next time she calls. Tell her I went to the dentist—no, the doctor. Yes! Tell her I went to the endocrinologist because I have a problem with... one of my testicles."

Some days Pam's job makes her really sad. "I don't think an endocrinologist deals with the… um…. with your—"

"Thank you, Pam! You're the best!" Michael chirps, slapping his hand on the counter before disappearing back into his office. She stands to go after him, but just then the conference room door swings open and she drops back into her seat.

Jim's hands are shoved deep in his pockets when he comes out and he refuses to look in her direction which makes her insides twist. He's just about to sink back into his chair when Stanley cuts him off. She can't hear what Stanley's saying, but she can see Jim pinch the bridge of his nose in aggravation.

"We have to leave in a few minutes!" Stanley barks loudly enough for everyone in the office to hear. "It's a two hour drive and I'm not going to be late because you _forgot_."

Pam watches as Jim quietly gathers some files from his desk and shoves them into his messenger bag along with a copy of Dunder-Mifflin's Q2 2007 Sales Guide. She tries to catch his eye as he puts his suit jacket on, but he still won't look at her and Pam feels an escalating sense of panic. If he leaves now, they won't get a chance to talk.

"Jim?" she croaks as he walks past her desk. It's the first time she's spoken to him since last night.

He freezes and turns to look at her. It's hard to read his expression, but she thinks maybe there's an apology in his eyes. Or maybe he's just mortified that she's talking to him. "I, uh... I gotta go. Sales call. In Reading." He shifts uncomfortably.

"Oh."

"I'll be gone for the rest of the day, I think."  
"Okay," Pam says, her heart sinking. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Randall with the camera hoisted on his shoulder, catching every expression on her face. This kind of thing must be gold for them. "Well, then. I guess…I'll see you tomorrow?" She struggles keep her voice steady, so she doesn't sound too hopeful and desperate.

His gives her a tepid smile. "Tomorrow's Saturday, Beesly."

"Oh." So, does that mean he doesn't want to talk to her at all over the weekend? Karen gets to see him "later" but Pam's supposed to wait until work on Monday?

She tries not to sound crushed as she says, "Then I guess I'll see you on Monday," just as the phone rings again.

"I'm at the testicle doctor!" Michael shouts from his office as the main door closes behind Stanley and Jim.

Pam blinks back tears and lets the phone roll to voicemail.

She's not going to cry, she refuses to be that girl. Instead, she heads into the restroom and splashes cold water on her face. Only when she's sure the urge to cry has well and truly passed does she return to her desk.

On the way she catches Angela giving her a weird look. And then a moment later she hears Angela tap three times on her desk. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Dwight look in her direction and then he taps on his desk three times. Pam tries to ignore it but then Angela starts tapping again. It goes back and forth like some kind of weird Morse code for several minutes until finally Dwight gets up and approaches Pam's desk.

"Pamela," he says gravely. "I have something very sensitive to discuss with you. I request your presence in the breakroom."

"I'm kind of busy," Pam says. "What's it about?" Dwight's been buddying up to her since the secret promotion yesterday and it's starting to get on her nerves. Under different circumstances she might be able to have fun with it, but not today. Not when she and Jim aren't even speaking.

"Not here," Dwight hisses, shooting a glance over his shoulder at the camera crew that's currently in Michael's office. "This is a highly confidential matter of the utmost importance." He knocks on the reception counter three times and disappears to the back.

Pam sighs and reluctantly follows Dwight. While he sits down and places a copy of the Sears catalog on the table in front of him, she gets a soda out of the machine.

"What is it?" Pam says, sitting across from him with her Coke.

Dwight clears his throat. "Pam. It's come to my attention that I am in need of some assistance. I am reluctant to ask for it, but," he leans forward and braces his elbows on the table, "my girlfriend says we can trust you with our secret."

Pam nods and laces her fingers together in her lap.

"You have experience…. decommitting to things. Which is why I'm reluctant to involve you in something so _life-changing_—"

"Decommitting? To what?"

"Your marriage to a certain Roy Anderson. You left him at the altar, did you not?"

Pam feels the blood rush to her face. "I did _not_. We broke up before the wedding, not the day of."

"Nonetheless, I'm not sure—"

"Just tell me what you need help with, Dwight."

"I need you to help me pick out an engagement ring. I assume you know a fair bit about… these types of things."

Pam gapes at him. "You're getting engaged? To Angela?" She did not see this coming, although maybe she should have.

"Pam!" Dwight exclaims, shushing her. "Angela says we can trust you to keep our secret."

"No, totally. You can totally trust me. I won't tell a soul." She can't taste her soda anymore and wonders why Dwight and Angela's happiness makes her feel so empty.

"Now that I know that you are no longer aligning yourself with Jim and his childish pranks, I'm coming to you for help."

Pam tries not to flinch at the mention of Jim. "So you want my advice about rings?"

"As a rule, the Schrutes don't believe in jewelry. In my family, the male kills the biggest elk he can find and takes it to the best taxidermist in the county—currently my uncle Hershel. The bride-to-be receives it as a love offering and mounts it to the wall if the offer of marriage is accepted."

"Mmm hmm." She nods, forcing her mouth into a thin line to cover her amusement.

"But my beloved wants an engagement stone and I am determined to find something to adequately show her how much I care. Money is no object when my woman's happiness is at stake." He flips open the Sears catalog and slides it across the table. "Now. Which of these rings do you think Angela would like?"

She spends the next fifteen minutes looking at rings with Dwight, but the truth is she knows next to nothing about Angela's taste in jewelry except for her ever-present crucifixes. In the end Dwight settles on a 1/4 carat marquis bridal set with a tiny cross engraved in the band and Pam hollowly assures him that Angela will love it.

The rest of the day passes in a sort of haze. Dwight and Angela keep giving each other sneaky sideways glances whenever the cameras aren't around. Watching them, Pam can't seem to stop looking over at Jim's empty desk, can't stop thinking about him, and feels progressively worse and worse, missing him.

She realizes that she's actually jealous of Dwight and Angela, how they're so perfect for each other in their weird, freaky, desk-tapping way. Here they are carrying on this secret romance in the office and totally making it work for them and Pam wonders if she'll ever get to have that with Jim.

In the afternoon Michael makes her do carpool assignments for the whole office based on where everyone lives. She tries to tell him no one's going to want to carpool but he won't be swayed. It nearly kills her to assign Jim and Karen to the same carpool. Pam ends up with Creed and Andy and Kevin, which is, like, so typical of her life. But then when word gets out about the carpool plan there's a general mutiny and Michael ends up sulking in his office the rest of the day. Pam secretly rejoices.

It's Friday so everyone but Michael shoots out the door at five, but Pam lingers, finishing up a game of solitaire. What does she have to hurry home to? Another weekend alone, wishing she were with Jim?

At 5:20 she takes pity on Michael and knocks on his office door. When she goes in he's staring out the window with his back to her, and the way his shoulders are slumped she knows he's upset.

"Michael, are you okay?" she asks.

He shakes his head and sniffles pathetically. "No one liked my eco-friendly policies. I just wanted to do something good for the earth, but apparently we work in an office full of earth-haters."

"You know," Pam says gently, "it's not easy to be the person leading the charge for change. People don't really like change, even when it's good for them. But I think it was really brave of you to try it."

"That's a good point," Michael says, perking up a little. "No one liked Martin Luther King at first. Or Ghandi."

"Exactly," Pam says, with as much sincerity as she can muster. "Maybe you just need to start a little more slowly. Give them some time to adjust."

"That is a very good idea. People can only take so much inspiration. I don't want to over-inspire."

"Yeah, you know, start with the fax cover sheets for now, and maybe later on we can go after those plastic spoons."

"And the Kleenex!"

"We'll see."

"Yeah, that's the ticket," he says, getting excited. "I pity da fool who tries to waste the earth's resources in this office!"

"Okay," Pam says before he gets too carried away with the '80s catchphrases. "So, are you heading out soon? I could, uh, walk down with you."

He hangs his head so that his chin is nearly resting on his chest. "I don't wanna go home, Pam. I thought I'd be excited and happy that Jan wants to be there with me, but I'm…I'm…" he trails off.

"You're what?" Pam asks against her better judgment.

"_I'm scared of her_," he hisses in a low voice, his eyes darting toward the open blinds near the front hallway, as if Jan's eavesdropping.

Pam sighs. "Then why did you get back together with her?"

"I don't knooooow" he moans, slumping forward so his forehead hits the desk with a sickening clunk.

"Michael?"

"I thought I wanted to break up with her," he says into the surface of the desk. "It seemed like the right thing to do when we were all at the mall the other day, but..."

"But what?"

He sits up and looks at Pam with watery eyes. "But then I saw her, and I just... I wanted to be with her. I don't expect you to understand what it's like to love someone that much."

"Yeah," she says sourly. But she does understand. Isn't that how she feels about Jim? Come on, Beesly, don't think, just answer. What do you want to do about Jim?

_I want to fix things with Jim._

It hits her like a blast of cold air. _I want to fix things with Jim_.

"I want to be with Jan," Michael says. "I'm almost 75% sure. Seventy-five or seventy. The thing is, I just don't want to actually be _with her_, you know, right now."

"Go home, Michael," Pam says firmly. "You can't sleep here and Jan would never believe that you've been at the doctor this long."

"I checked out some stuff on WebMD. I can fake…uh, let's see," he sifts through a stack of printouts on his desk before finding what he's looking for. "I can fake… temporary impotence. What do you think?"

Pam suppresses a shudder and starts herding Michael out the door as quickly as she can. She's got things to do tonight after all. 


	6. It’s Just Waiting for You

Jim doesn't get home from Reading until six o'clock. After four tortuous hours in the car with Stanley complaining about sharing his commission with a kid like Jim, and another two hours listening to the purchasing manager at Poole Plastics talk about fly fishing on the Allegheny, Jim's ready to hang himself with his own necktie.

He checked his cell phone incessantly the whole trip, double-checking that it was powered on, or that he'd changed it from vibrate back to loud ring. But Pam never called him. Hours later he finally has to admit to himself that she has nothing to say. He's kind of pissed about that, but at this point he mostly just feels numb.

Pale light spills listlessly through the blinds and his apartment feels even emptier than usual as he digs through the dresser for a change of clothes. He keeps finding Karen's things—pajama bottoms, three pairs of socks, a Northwestern tank top—and tosses them all into a pile in the corner of the room.

After pulling on an old '76ers shirt he wanders back into the living room, giving the cell phone on the coffee table a dirty look. He passed dead-tired two hours ago and uses the last of his energy to put on an Elliott Smith CD before flopping down on the couch.

In five minutes he's sound asleep.

The sound of the doorbell startles him awake sometime around dusk. He sits up and blearily scrubs at his eyes, wondering what time it is. The doorbell rings again before he manages to pull himself off the couch and he feels a stab of dread that it might be Karen.

But when he swings the door open it's Pam standing there in the last orange-pink rays of failing sunlight and he has to fight to keep breathing. In, out, in, out, he reminds himself, tightening his grip on the door.

She's holding a plastic grocery bag and nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The urge to pull her into his arms is almost overwhelming, but he's had a lot of practice crushing those kind of urges.

Struggling to keep his expression as neutral as possible, he self-consciously pats at his nap-mussed hair. "Pam? Hi."

"Hi," she says carefully. Her expression is shuttered and unfathomable and he feels a familiar ache in his chest.

"What are you…what are you doing here?"

She chews her lip in an unconscious and completely adorable display of unease. "Um. Hi," she says again.

"Hi again." He can't help smiling a little at the burst of pink that flames in her cheeks.

"I... I was just thinking… um…" She trails off, shifting the bag from her right hand to her left.

"Do you want to come in?" he asks, swinging the door opens wider. He can't help but feel a tiny spark of hope. Maybe she wants to work things out after all?

"If that's okay," she says, glancing around uncertainly. "I don't want to interrupt anything."

He shakes his head. "No, I just I fell asleep on the couch."

"Oh. I thought maybe...you and Karen..."

"No!" he says quickly. "No, Karen and I are over. Completely over."

"Okay. I just... I saw you guys in the break room today and figured—"

"Pam, no. She just needed to say goodbye. That's all."

Relief floods her face and the tiny spark of hope ignites into a bonfire. He follows her through the foyer and into the living room, watching nervously as she looks around his apartment for the first time.

"This is a nice place," she says. "Lots of new furniture."

"Yeah, most of the stuff at my old place was Mark's."

"It looks good. Like a grown up lives here." She peers at the framed prints on the wall behind the couch. "These are really great photos. Did you take these?"

He nods sheepishly. "When I went to Philly with Mark and his girlfriend—wife, I mean—last June."

"Oh." She stiffens almost imperceptibly and if he weren't so attuned to her he might not have noticed. They're treading dangerously close to the things that seem to get them in trouble. The wedding that never happened. The transfer he took to get away from her.

He searches for something safe to say. "What's in the bag?"

"The what?" Her forehead crinkles slightly and she tilts her head.

He points. "The bag?"

"Oh! I made you a sandwich."

"A sandwich? Seriously?" It's so absurd he has to smile.

"Yeah. Are you hungry?" she asks, holding out the bag to him.

He tries to keep his voice light, teasing. "Maybe. Depends on the sandwich."

She smiles and for a moment it almost feels like the way things used to be. But then she sets the bag on the table and her smile fades. "Jim, I know we didn't have a very good night last night—"

"Pam, I'm so sorry, I have no idea what happened," he blurts out before she can finish.

She shoves her hands in her pockets and stares at the ground. "I think maybe we have a lot to work out. I was just... I was expecting to drop right back into being... you know, _us_."

"I know."

"And the thing is, we haven't really talked all year and even before you left we never..." She looks up and her eyes find his. "We were never very good at telling each other the truth, were we?"

"No," he says, remembering all the times he could have told her how he felt but didn't. And all the times he knew she must have known but pretended not to. "We really kind of sucked at that."

"And then when last night didn't go well, I was just so disappointed, but it wasn't fair for me to... I don't know." She looks at him helplessly.

"No, you're right," he says, stepping forward. "I had this whole perfect evening planned in my head and none of it turned out the way... it seemed like the only good thing about last night was…" He stops, suddenly embarrassed.

"Was what?"

Something about the way she's looking at him gives him the courage to say it. "The only good thing about last night was finally getting to your apartment and you were wearing that amazing dress and..." He feels his face getting hot but he keeps going. "...I kissed you. We kissed. And then everything went so horribly wrong and I thought we'd never... I was afraid I'd never get a chance to do it again."

Her eyes are glittering when she looks at him. "When you said you'd broken up with Karen for me, I was really… I don't know..." She falters.

He's dying to rush forward and fold her up in his arms but he doesn't move. He waits to hear what she's going to say because he needs hear her say it.

She closes her eyes briefly and then looks up at him. "Jim—" she starts, then takes a deep breath. "I want this. Just so there's no more misunderstandings. I want this. I want you. To be totally honest, I've wanted this for five years."

He takes another step closer and wraps a finger around one of her curls. When she looks up at him he smiles, but he doesn't say anything.

"Jim? Did you hear me?"

He smiles wider. "So... you want me?"

"That's what I just said," she says, smiling back at him.

His hand travels lightly through her hair. "Well, that's headline news, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Her eyes flutter closed as his fingers graze against her neck.

Moving even closer, he curls his fingers into her hairline. Her eyelids blink open and she gazes up at him. The air between them is buzzing like an electrical storm.

"What about last night?" he says quietly. His other hand flutters low on her hip, skimming the skin between her t-shirt and the waist of her jeans.

"What about it?" she whispers. Her hands move to his chest, right over his heart, and he knows she can feel it racing, but he doesn't care.

His other hand untangles from her hair and he gathers her up in his arms. "It, uh..." he starts. And then she kisses his throat, right below his Adam's apple. "Pam," he breathes.

He feels her smile against his neck and she places another kiss at his collarbone. Then another near his ear and, oh god, he wants it to be like this forever. But he knows it won't be. If this is going to work they have to be able to move past this perfect moment and into the maybe not-so-perfect moments waiting for them.

"Look at me," he says quietly, because there's something he has to say before it's too late. She looks up and his arms instinctively tighten around her. "You're the one, Pam. You're it for me. I'm sorry for all the stupid crap, I'm sorry for last night, I just… I love you, okay? We'll figure out the rest."

"You—you still love me?" Her voice is thick and he can see tears welling in her eyes.

He grins and lifts her up off the floor, feeling her toes brush against his shins as her flip-flops slide off her feet. "Yes, Beesly. There was never anyone else."

She giggles and tosses her hair out of her eyes as he puts her down. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to hold her like this, warm and breathless in his arms. When their lips meet he feels joy bloom inside him, driving out the cold emptiness that had been chilling him all day.

It's a long kiss—a really long kiss—longer than the one last night or the one a year ago that he doesn't like to think about. When they finally untangle themselves a few minutes later, Pam's cheeks are bright pink and Jim's stomach is flip-flopping like he's sixteen again.

"So, this sandwich," he says. "Is that meant to be some kind of peace offering?"

She grins and leans over the coffee table for the bag. "Well…sort of. I just figured that our second date didn't go as well as—"

"Second date?" Jim interrupts.

"Yes," she says, straightening up. "Our first date was on the roof. Remember?"

"I remember," he says, and he knows, somehow, in that moment, that it's going to be okay. Whatever else happens, they'll figure it out together.

"So anyway I made us grilled cheese sandwiches," Pam says, pulling plastic containers out of the bag.

"Good, because I'm getting really tired of ham and cheese." He quirks a smile and reaches for the empty bag, but it's not empty. "What else is in here?"

She shrugs lightly and flashes that mischievous smile that he adores. "Just a movie I rented."

He pulls a DVD case out of the bag. "You rented _Stranger Than Fiction_?"

"Would you mind watching it again with me? Because I've been meaning to see it and, you know, I've got half a bag of flour that I don't understand in my cabinet now, so—"

He grabs her and kisses her again. "Dinner and a movie sounds perfect."

They spend the evening on Jim's couch eating grilled cheese sandwiches and watching the movie. Pam leans over and kisses him when she finally gets the flour joke, and again when the credits start to roll.

By that time they're curled up in each other's arms and neither of them wants to move so they just stay there, talking, long into the night. They talk about movies and about really bad reality TV. They talk about Pam's art classes and about Jim's life in Stamford and they even talk about the wedding that Pam didn't go through with and how hard it was for her starting over on her own. And Jim tells her how proud he is of her, and she tells him how glad she is that he came back. And sometime after midnight they end up falling asleep, with Pam's head resting on his chest and his hand tangled in her hair, and the DVD menu still running on an endless loop.

And the very last thought that goes through Jim's mind, just before he drifts off, is, oddly enough, that he can't wait for work on Monday.

 

~ The End ~


End file.
